Only in America!

In the past I have always prepared my own taxes. It's a relatively painless procedure, especially when your gross income is just slightly larger than that of the paperboy. But this year, oh this year I'm making the big teacher bucks. So now I'm thinking it may be time to have a professional take a look at the year end reporting of my finances to the IRS. I was afraid it would be difficult to find a place where I would feel comfortable taking my business. It's an important job and I wanted to be sure I found someone that I could trust.
Lucky for me, I drive home through what must be the most highly concentrated collection of tax services in the tri-county area. Yep, 8 Mile Road between Livernois and Gratiot. How do I know I can trust these establishments? How can you not trust a tax service featuring an "urban" Uncle Sam on the corner? But the competition is stiff. Along that storied stretch of broken concrete and shattered dreams I pass not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR such Sams. They proudly stumble along the boulevard, like intoxicated human forms of Old Glory herself. Each one urging me to entrust them with my W-2 and bank receipts.
The choices don't end there though, if I decide that the starred and striped gentlemen are not to my liking I can choose from a pair of fine nubian Statues of Liberty (actually they're dudes too). These two collosus stand guard over 8 Mile with their torches of freedom held high. From their seperate posts they welcome the poor, the weak, the huddled masses, yearning to file early. (come to think of it, it may not be the torches that are high)
My search appears near it's conclusion. Next week I will throw my financial records in a shoebox and stash them under the seat, because if I spot an ebony bald eagle in the median I think I've found my taxman.